


Glazed

by robotboy



Series: Butterscotch [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Character, Deaf James Flint, Deaf Miranda Barlow, F/M, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Language Barrier, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-14 03:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16484801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: Silver fucking hates Thanksgiving.





	1. Sunday 25th November, 8:00pm

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this fic is a lot darker than the last two. There’s a violent fight; homophobic language; mention of conversion therapy; and heavy discussion of queer men being stereotyped as child predators. Please take care: skip this part of the series, or just chapters 9 through 11, if you need to.
> 
> [Moodboard for this fic.](http://r0b0tb0y.tumblr.com/post/179647012022/glazed-part-three-in-the-butterscotch-series-a)

There’s blood everywhere. Silver stumbles backwards in shock, away from the body writhing on the floor. His hands are shaking, his heart hammering, and even as Flint grabs him by the arms and steadies him, there’s a part of him that wants to strike again.

Silver probably should have seen this coming. He fucking hates Thanksgiving.


	2. Friday 9th November, 11:00am

Silver checks his phone over lunch, grinning around his baguette when he sees a text from Flint.

_Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?_

_no_ he replies.  _are you having something?_

 _Not a celebration_ , Flint responds.  _It’s a vile holiday._

Silver nods. That sounds more like Flint.  _i was planning to smoke a bowl and play breath of the wild for four days if you want to join me_

Flint sends a laughing emoji. Then he follows with:  _I was going to invite Miranda to stay with us for the long weekend. She wants to meet you._

That’s new. Silver spends more nights than not at Flint’s house—he half-suspects his two roommates wouldn’t recognise him if he went back home. But now it’s there: the assumption that Silver will be with Flint any given weekend. That Flint should check with him before inviting his… his whatever-Miranda-is.

 _sure,_  Silver says. Realising he should sound more enthusiastic, he adds:  _looking forward to it_

And he is. Flint has always been very opaque about Miranda. She’s Flint’s closest friend—Silver’s guessed she was possibly more than that at some point. She works two states over; she’s Deaf; and she’s British. She and Flint text almost daily, and Flint visited her during summer, but Silver has only ever seen her in photos.

He brushes baguette crumbs off his apron and joins Eleanor behind the counter again.

‘We’re closed over Thanksgiving, right?’ he checks.

‘That’s right,’ she says, pulling the blender to pieces for cleaning. ‘You’ve reminded me. Are you and Flint going to be in town?’

‘I’ll be at Flint’s,’ he says, phrasing it just ambiguously enough forestall any obligatory invitations to a painful family lunch where Flint will get furiously worked up about colonialism.

‘If you’re free on the Sunday night,’ Eleanor asks. ‘Woodes is in town. I’ve managed to book us a table for four at Annies Bistro, and I’d really like the two of you to come.’

Silver bites his lip. Flint hates going to restaurants, even seafood restaurants with rave reviews and rumoured mob connections, where a venture capitalist will probably foot the bill. Silver’s ASL is getting good enough that he can sometimes interpret for Flint, but he’s never tried to do it over a meal.

‘I’ll ask,’ Silver promises. ‘I appreciate the invitation. It’ll just be hard with the noise.’

‘We can both sign,’ Eleanor reminds him. ‘At least a bit. Couldn’t he  _try?’_

Silver grinds his teeth and busies himself cleaning the coffee machine. ‘That’s not really how it works.’

‘I know,’ Eleanor says. ‘I just want Woodes to meet some of my friends while he’s here. And you two are a proper couple now, it could be a double date.’

‘It’s a really nice idea,’ Silver tells her.

‘I know it’s not easy. It’s really good of you, dating him.’

‘Good for me, getting a date?’ Silver clarifies. ‘I’m still telling myself that, honestly.’

But it’s not what she meant. He knows, and it sits sour in his stomach for the rest of his shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor comes off as an antagonist in this part of the series. While her canon trait of ‘good intentions, bad results’ is used to discuss benevolent ableism here, her arc goes somewhere very different from the show after this.


	3. Sunday 25th November, 6:00pm

Woodes has a handshake like a man who’s read a self-improvement book on handshakes. He’s pretty, except for the watery eyes and the bleached highlights he probably thinks look natural. Silver is being generous for Eleanor’s sake, so he says ‘Great to meet you, mate,’ with an undetectable inflection on the _mate_. Flint nods curtly during his own handshake, and Woodes tilts his head curiously at Flint. Silver feels his hackles raise, but Flint holds steely eye contact until Woodes looks away with a quiet ‘hm.’

Woodes leaves his card at the till, so Silver resolves to order the most expensive things on the menu. The place is packed and cacophonously loud as they weave their way to their table. It’s a cheerful bistro, rough around the edges but well-loved by locals, its tables spilling out onto the waterfront. Drinks menus are passed around and the waiter promises another server will collect their orders.

Woodes and Eleanor chatter through the wine options. Silver struggles to translate quickly, and Flint places a hand on his arm.

 _Don’t worry about it_ , he tells Silver. _Small talk?_

 _About wine,_ Silver says. He’s waiting for Flint to say he told him so.

 _I’ll have a pale ale_ , Flint says. _You want one too?_

 _Yeah_ , Silver agrees. _Yes._

Eleanor and Woodes have switched to discussing beer varieties when the waiter appears.

’Two pale ales,’ Silver asks.

‘The same for—oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Eleanor interrupts herself.

Silver and Woodes look up, and Flint a second later. Eleanor is scowling at the waiter, who’s scowling back.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Eleanor asks.

‘I _work_ here,’ the waiter growls.

Silver looks at the daggers being glared between them putting two and two together quickly. _I think he’s her ex?_ he signs at Flint. This must be the Sugarfree Vanilla Jack.

‘You’re the fucking busboy,’ Eleanor snaps.

‘Yeah, when it’s not packed to the rafters,’ Sugarfree Vanilla Jack gestures around them. ‘You see anyone else free to serve you?’

‘Fine,’ Eleanor snaps. ‘Just bring the beer.’

‘Something wrong?’ Woodes asks with a polite smile.

‘It’s nothing,’ Eleanor assures him. ‘He’s my ex.’

 _Sorry_ , she says to Flint. Flint nods.

‘Hard to avoid in a town like this,’ Woodes says diplomatically.

‘I didn’t know he’d be serving,’ Eleanor says, and then to all of them: ‘I’m sorry. It won’t be an issue.’

‘You know Ellie,’ Woodes smiles at Silver. ‘Mind like a sieve.’

Silver opens his mouth to defend her, then realises it’s checkmate. Either he lets Woodes neg her, or he puts her in the shit for taking them to her ex-boyfriend’s restaurant.

 _He says she’s forgetful_ , Silver tells Flint. Flint raises a skeptical eyebrow. _Better than saying she knew he was here._

‘So,’ Woodes says, changing the subject. ‘Never known gay guys to like beer.’

Silver interprets while Eleanor mutters ‘oh my god.’

‘Well, I’m bi,’ Silver tries to keep the mood light, signing as he speaks so Flint can keep up. ‘I’ll drink anything.’

 _Queer_ , Flint adds. _Doesn’t affect my taste in drinks._

While Silver is reiterating Flint’s statement aloud, Flint says something a lot nastier.

‘Sorry,’ Woodes says, and he looks sincere about it. ‘What’s the difference?’

‘It’s just another word,’ Eleanor starts. ‘It’s a little outdated—‘

Silver gets as far as _It’s just another word_ before Flint launches into a response. So they’re getting into this now. Silver’s ASL is still shaky for something this complicated, and Flint is getting faster and more emphatic.

‘It’s different,’ Silver repeats. ‘It’s… um, refusing an easy narrative. Denying comfort to people who want you in their categories—want you to not be _strange_. It means… defiance.’

Eleanor and Woodes stare in silence for a moment.

 _Thank you_ , Flint says. _I know that wasn’t easy._

 _Don’t apologise_ , Silver responds, flashing a short _I-L-Y_ at him.

Sugarfree Vanilla Jack arrives with the ale and Silver gulps half of it before announcing: ‘Yeah, I’m gonna need another one of these.’


	4. Friday 9th November, 5:00pm

_Does it have to be a restaurant?_

Silver knew this would be the conversation they’d have. _She wants to go on a double date. It’s hard to get a booking over the long weekend._

Flint frowns. _She realises I’m not going to be able to talk to him anyway?_

_You could talk_ _at_ _him_ , Silver suggests.

_I vocalise, he’s going to think I’m faking it_ , Flint snaps. He sees Silver’s surprise: _Really, it happens._

_You don’t have to speak_ , Silver promises. _I’ll interpret. I know I’m not very good yet—_

_It’s not that_ , Flint insists, his expression softening. He reaches for Silver, brushing a curl out of his eyes. _You’re getting better._

Silver gives him a weak smile. _I’ll try to make it worth it. At least he’s paying?_

Flint sighs heavily. _Look… I have to say this. Do you know what it smells like? If it’s not going to be good for me, and it’s not going to be good for you, this dinner is not_ _for_ _us. We’re there for her sake._

_What do you mean?_ Silver asks.

_It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s wanted to show they have disabled queer friends,_ Flint says. He holds up a hand before Silver reacts: _I’m not saying it’s intentional. I’m saying it might be why she’s set her heart on_ _us_ _being the ones who meet whats-his-name._

_Woodes,_ Silver spells out the name. _You know he’s English, too. That might be why._

Flint scoffs. _Fucking posh twat name._

Silver does not point out that the rare occasions Flint does vocalise suggest he’s got some posh twat in his history. But they don’t talk about history.

_What would make it easier?_ Silver asks.

_Not going to a restaurant,_ Flint responds.

Silver sighs.

_I’m not doing this to be difficult,_ Flint says. _It just_ _is_ _difficult._

_I know that,_ Silver insists. _I know. I’m on your side._

_I’m on yours,_ Flint says, and kisses him.

_Can we just go and get drunk and eat lobsters?_ Silver asks, when they stop for breath.

_Did you just guess the word for lobster?_ Flint laughs.

_Did I get it?_

_You did_ , Flint kisses his nose.

To remind Flint restaurants aren’t entirely hell, Silver phones the local Indian place for delivery. Flint warms to the idea with a a stomach full of korma, and Silver stuffs himself with garlic naan as fortification for the question he has to ask. When Flint has packed the leftovers in the fridge, Silver sits him down.

_Can you tell me about Miranda?_

She’s been a strange presence in Silver’s life: a buzz of light on Flint’s phone that makes him smile; an untouched shelf of tea in Flint’s cupboard; the only link to Flint’s past that Silver knows of.

Flint leaves it too long to not know how loaded that question is. _What do you want to know?_

_She’s not just a friend who also comes from England, is she?_ Silver says.

Flint sighs. _No. She’s not._

_What is she?_ Silver asks.

Flint’s fingers twitch, like he can’t figure out what to say. He looks at Silver, then away.

_I’m sorry_ , he says eventually. _I can’t… could you ask me something more specific, maybe? Please._

Silver thought he was pulling a thread. He’s kicked a hornet’s nest. He starts with: _You knew her in England?_

_Yes_ , Flint answers. _We moved here together._

_Together? _ Silver repeats. Flint looks him in the eye now, searching.

_Yes,_ _together_ _,_ he says. _It’s complicated._

_I can tell,_ Silver smiles drily.

_We’re not together anymore_ , Flint says. _We’re still close._

_When did you stop being together?_ Silver asks.

Flint reaches over, squeezing his hand gently before answering. _Before you._

Tension dissipates from Silver’s shoulders that he hadn’t known was there.

_Were you worried?_ Flint asks, his expression fond.

_I… yes, I think I was?_ Silver confesses. _I’m not usually a jealous person._

Flint nods. _Is it because she’s a woman?_

_No…_ Silver thinks about it. _It’s… I think it’s because she’s Deaf._

Flint nods again.

_I’ll never understand that part of you like she can,_ Silver continues.

_You never know_ , Flint smiles sarcastically. _You might lose your hearing one day._

_Oh, that’s comforting_ , Silver elbows Flint. Flint bumps him back affectionately. _You know what I mean._

_It makes sense_ , Flint assures him.

_I don’t think I’m jealous, but… envious? She knew you before_ , Silver’s still figuring it out as he talks. _I know there’s a_ _before ,_ _and I’ve been trying not to ask…_

Flint sighs heavily. _I know you have. I appreciate it. It’s just… it’s hard to explain. It’ll all be easier when she’s here._

Silver bites his lip. Now he’s told Flint all of that, he can’t stop himself from asking: _What if she hates me?_

Flint bursts into laughter. He cups Silver’s face in both hands and covers him in kisses. When Silver is squirming away, flushed and slightly damp, Flint tells him:

_She won’t._ _You’re so alike._

_Really?_ Silver is astonished. _How?_

_The way you talk to people,_ Flint says. _You can play them like a fiddle. Put thoughts in their heads they believe were their own._

_Do I do that to you?_ Silver asks.

_You convinced me to go to this dinner of yours_.

_We are_ _not_ _going over that again_ , Silver begs. _Keep flattering me._

_You’re both so clever,_ Flint says.

_Isn’t she a neuroscientist?_ Silver squints.

_Neurolinguist._

_I don’t even know the difference._

_You’re clever,_ Flint insists. _You’re clever, and charming, and incredibly funny. You’re adventurous, and you’re kind when you think nobody’s looking._

_And handsome,_ Silver points out.

_And confident,_ Flint laughs.

_And fantastic in bed_ , Silver adds.

_Oh, are you?_ Flint grins.

So Silver reminds him.


	5. Sunday 25th November, 6:30-7:30pm

Woodes orders the most expensive wine on the list. Sugarfree Vanilla Jack makes as much of a production of presenting it as Woodes does tasting it. Flint and Silver stick to beer, while Eleanor and Woodes are onto their second bottle before appetisers arrive. Woodes talks them through his various projects, while Flint helps Silver decimate a plate of shrimp. Eleanor is asking Woodes how long he’ll be away supervising the next startup, and Flint mentions to Silver: _Do you think he’s cheating on her?_

Silver almost chokes. Flint sits there licking sauce off his fingers, wide-eyed and guileless.

‘Something wrong?’ Eleanor asks.

‘Went down the wrong way,’ Silver lies, thumping his chest. He washes it down with the rest of his beer, flagging Sugarfree Vanilla Jack for another.

Woodes and Eleanor are decidedly pink by the second course. Silver would really like to be enjoying his free lobster. Instead, he’s interpreting Woodes’ increasingly tasteless anecdotes, and _not_ interpreting half of Flint’s responses.

 _You’re lucky Eleanor can’t keep up_ , Silver warns him.

 _She’s too busy watching the waiter,_ Flint argues. He’s made significantly more progress on his half of the lobster.

And then Woodes orders a third bottle.

Sugarfree Vanilla Jack brings it, but when Woodes gestures for him to fill the glass higher, he asks: ‘Sure you don’t want to slow down?’

‘Did we fucking ask you?’ Eleanor snarls.

‘You’d know if you asked me,’ Sugarfree Vanilla Jack sounds equally vicious. He puts the bottle on the table. ‘If you asked me, I’d say he’d better slow down if he plans to be the one giving you what _you’re_ gonna need if _you_ don’t slow down.’

‘Excuse me?’ Woodes says delicately. His chair scrapes back against the floor, the sound almost drowned out by the other diners.

Silver looks at Flint. Flint’s eyebrows are somewhere near the ceiling, and Silver can’t explain right now without it being obvious, but apparently the dread on his face is enough for Flint to understand.

‘You heard what I said,’ Sugarfree Vanilla Jack mutters, shifting his weight.

‘Will you _shut the fuck up,_ please,’Eleanor hisses at him. ’Woodes, sit down.’

Woodes stands up. He’s not quite steady on his feet. Silver inches himself closer to Flint, who’s already angled carefully away.

‘There, boy,’ Sugarfree Vanilla Jack smirks at Woodes. ‘A lemonade might cool you down.’

Woodes strides toward him, and their chests bump. Sugarfree Vanilla Jack widens his stance and grabs Woodes by the lapels.

Woodes punches him in the face.

Eleanor yelps, scrambling to her feet. Sugarfree Vanilla Jack snarls, a hand covering his nose. He looks ready to swing, but Eleanor circles the table to grab his hand.

‘Charles, please!’ she cries. Both the men stare at her, red-faced and panting. The hubbub of the bistro in full swing has covered the scuffle, but Silver can sense a few eyes swivelling in their direction.

‘Sit the fuck down and finish your meal,’ Sugarfree Vanilla Jack growls, His eyes are already starting to blacken. ‘And we forget how this started.’

He stalks off, disappearing into a back room.

‘I cannot fucking believe you!’ Eleanor shoves Woodes back into his seat. ‘You sit the fuck here and behave yourself until I get back.’

‘Where are you going?’ Woodes asks.

‘To check you haven’t broken his fucking nose,’ Eleanor turns heel.

Silver hastily describes what’s been said. Flint keeps his face neutral, aware that Woodes is watching them both, and seething.

‘You two enjoying the show?’ he snaps.

Silver translates. Flint scoffs directly at Woodes.

‘You should be thanking me,’ Woodes drains his wineglass, then Eleanor’s. ‘Must be new for you, not to be the biggest novelty in the room.’

Silver grimaces. ‘Must be,’ he says through gritted teeth, repeating it to Flint.

Flint looks amused. Rather than responding, he reaches for Woodes’ plate and takes an untouched lobster claw. Both of them stare as he cracks the pincer apart and sucks the meat from it. He doesn’t break eye contact with Woodes, but his foot nudges against Silver’s. Woodes refills his wine.

‘So,’ he says to Silver. ‘Ellie tells me he’s English?’

Silver gets the feeling pecan pie is no longer in his future.


	6. Wednesday 23rd November, 8:30pm

Silver hears the taxi pull up. Flint notices Silver’s head turn and is on his feet, already halfway downstairs when the doorbell starts flashing.

Silver first sees Miranda over Flint’s shoulder, as she throws her arms around Flint and holds him tightly. Then she glances up at Silver with twinkling dark eyes, smiling at him. She squeezes Flint one more time and then it’s Silver being hugged. She kisses both his cheeks before saying _hello_. Silver says _hi_ , and behind her he can see Flint is beaming.

Flint takes Miranda’s suitcase up to the spare room while Miranda and Silver head to the kitchen. Silver takes out the sweet potato pie he’d brought home from Idelle and Featherstone’s bakery. It’s decorated with pastry leaves and glazed nuts. Silver doesn’t do Thanksgiving, but he’ll make a concession for pie.

 _It’s beautiful!_ Miranda remarks. _Did you make it?_

 _No,_ Silver laughs. _This is from the local bakery, called The Whole Damn Boulangerie. The only thing I can make is coffee—can I get you one?_

 _Perhaps Flint was afraid to tell you,_ Miranda grins. _I don’t drink coffee._

Silver holds a hand to his chest, pantomiming being wounded. Miranda laughs, placing a hand on his arm affectionately.

 _Tea?_ she offers.

 _Thank you,_ Silver says, and slices up the pie. Miranda bustles through the kitchen, dusting off an electric kettle with a whole panel of settings. She navigates the cupboards with familiarity, finding a teapot, three mugs, and tea leaves (she checks Silver is happy with her choice of Countess Grey, which he’s never tried but isn’t adverse to). She finds Silver three plates with forks for the pie. Flint returns from upstairs to watch the intricate ritual of Miranda catching the kettle at the right temperature, filling the teapot, and timing on her phone while it steeps.

Over dessert, Flint asks Miranda about her journey. She rolls her eyes and recounts a story about a mollycoddling flight attendant. Silver mostly keeps up, but as the conversation shifts to Flint’s work, he realises how much Flint has been slowing down in ASL for his benefit.

As delighted as the pair of them are to catch up, all three are yawning soon. Flint stacks the dishes, setting the machine then pressing his hand against the door to confirm it’s running.

They make their way to bed, and before Silver can get the lamp, Flint catches his hand.

 _Do you like her?_ Flint asks, and Silver can see he’s genuinely nervous about the answer. Silver kisses his hands.

 _She’s nice,_ Silver says. _It’s sweet how happy she makes you._

Flint is still searching for something, but Silver can’t yet articulate what’s put him out of balance—or even that he _is_ out of balance. He turns off the light, so it’s left for tomorrow.


	7. Sunday 25th November, 7:45pm

Eleanor has been in the back room with Sugarfree Vanilla Jack for fifteen minutes.

 _Your fiancée is fucking the busboy_ , Flint signs at Woodes. Silver is tempted to translate.


	8. Thursday 22nd November, 7:00am

The day starts with Silver singing loudly in the shower, because who’s going to complain? Because he wants to remind himself Flint had said Miranda was staying _with us_ , and that tickles something inside him. Because that maybe means a little more than a bathroom fixture.

He comes downstairs to a stack of pancakes, Flint manning the frypan and Miranda curled up on a chair in pyjamas nursing her tea. Silver suspects she is not quite as much of a morning person as they are. Silver makes a pair of coffees and leaves conversation until after breakfast.

They take Miranda on a walk along the waterfront. The beach is empty, since everyone is indoors eating turkey and trying not to murder their families. It’s chilly, a bank of heavy clouds rolling in with the wind from the sea, but they’re bundled up against it and getting warmer as they stroll. The sand and rocks require half of Silver’s attention, or his knees will pay for it later. Flint is practically walking sideways to talk to them, and almost sends himself head-over-heels stumbling on pebbles. Silver catches him and Miranda laughs, telling him to save it until they’re home again.

It’s at home, after almost a day of it, that he realises what’s wrong. Flint is a ray of sunshine, talking a mile a minute with Miranda. It’s impossible to miss how how fluid, how animated he is speaking with her. Silver knows he’s improved his ASL in leaps and bounds, talking to Flint every day; half-living with him; taking classes. But now it’s there in Silver’s face; how little Flint has been able to express to him in the time they’ve been together. Everything he’s had to hold back to accommodate Silver’s fumbling attempts to communicate with him.All this time, Flint’s been giving him—and the word sinks like a stone in his chest—a handicap.

Flint hasn’t noticed, and even if he did Silver knows he’d fucking smile encouragingly at Flint like he understood, like Flint’s told him deaf people are trained to do from childhood, but Flint hasn’t so much as looked his way. And Silver wouldn’t ask him to slow down, he couldn’t, not when he knows Hearing people never do it for Flint.

So he tags along, reminding himself that Flint told him he was clever, while he tries to pick up new words from the context of their conversation. By dinner he’s found he can just about follow, even if he’s half-exhausted from concentrating so closely.

Maybe that’s why it happens. God, he fucking hates Thanksgiving.

Miranda startles him by tapping on his arm.

 _Just how long have you two been together?_ she asks him.

Silver shakes himself out of his concentration to think of the answer. _Since May? Yeah, six months._

Miranda levels Flint with a sly look. He says something back to her, and Silver can’t follow at all. He can only tell from their expressions—Miranda grinning and Flint beginning to flush—that she’s found something out. Silver watches Flint’s mouth as he signs, and catches him repeating ‘six months’ at Miranda, but it’s not the words he knows in ASL.

Then the penny drops. They’re speaking BSL at each other. And they’re talking about him.

‘Hey,’ he says, then switches to signing. _Don’t do that._

Flint tenses a little.

 _Don’t talk about me in another language_ , Silver says. _Not when I’m right here._

 _How do you think it feels when you’re speaking?_ Flint snaps.

It hits him like a truck—and he knows what that feels like. Silver opens his mouth, realising his hands have gone slack too.

 _That’s not fair_ , Silver says. _I don’t do that._

Does he? His lip trembles as he tries to recall. _Do I?_

Flint’s steely expression crumbles a moment later. _You don’t—you haven’t in a long while. I’m sorry._

 _I have some responsibility here_ , Miranda says with an apologetic smile. Flint starts to deny it, but she continues: _I put him in an uncomfortable spot, and he switched back to BSL. I doubt he was even thinking about it._

 _I know you’re both making an effort for me,_ Silver says. _I know I’m holding you back._

Flint sighs heavily. _It’s not that. I know—I_ _know_ _how hard it is when you can’t keep up in a conversation…_

 _I know you know!_ Silver says. _That’s why I feel like a dick for complaining about it._

Miranda puts a hand between them. _It’s alright. Do you want to explain, or shall I?_

 _You. Please._ Flint shifts uncomfortably, stroking his beard with his knuckles.

 _I asked how long you’d been together,_ Miranda explains. _Because he’s been talking about you for a while longer than that. You were his cute barista_ (Flint is blushing so much his freckles disappear) _, and then suddenly he went all quiet about you. That was around May. And then… he was so cautious. He didn’t tell me until he visited in mid-June that he was seeing you. And he doesn’t know this, but when he talked about you then? He was_ _glowing_ _. I haven’t known Flint to let anyone so close, let alone stay with them for six months. He likely hasn’t told you, but he hasn’t got this way about anyone in a long time. A very long time. And it’s hard for us to talk about why, but we will._ _He_ _will._

Silver looks at Flint, expecting him to deflect or demur. He only shrugs. _She’s right._

 _This is new for you, dating someone who speaks a different language,_ Miranda says kindly. _But a lot of this is new for him as well._

Silver takes a deep breath, and then another. Flint looks up at him, with that same expression of cautious hope Silver’s seen more often lately.

_You used to call me your cute barista?_

Flint’s smile carves crow’s feet deep into his eyes. _You’re still my cute barista._


	9. Sunday 25th November 7:50pm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I mentioned at the start of the fic, the following chapters deal pretty heavily with confronting subjects. We start to get into Flint's back story, which is not any lighter in this AU. If you want to skip the next three chapters (9/10/11), you can jump back on board at chapter 12 and I'll put a recap in the notes.

Silver has been carefully steering the conversation to keep Woodes distracted, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. Woodes keeps glancing at Eleanor’s empty seat, his nostrils flaring, then pouring himself another drink and turning back to Silver. He hardly looks at Flint, but he asks about him.

‘What part of England’s he from?’

 _London_ , Flint tells Silver. Flint’s previously told Silver it was Cornwall, but Silver translates honestly. Woodes grunts, dissatisfied.

Woodes twirls the wineglass in his hand, almost spilling it. ‘What’s it like, fucking a Deaf guy?’

‘Spectacular,’ Silver snaps.

‘Hm. Suppose you can’t ask me about fucking your boss, though, can you?’ Woodes muses.

‘I wasn’t going to,’ Silver informs him.

‘You’re telling him what I’m saying?’ Woodes asks, watching Silver’s hands.

‘That’s what I do.’

‘Don’t know how,’ Woodes remarks. ‘Must be hard, finding a gay man who’ll put up with it.’

Silver flinches. He knows he said something similar once, in the early days.

‘Though I suppose you’re _bi_ , aren’t you? What did you say, that you’ll take anything?’

‘It has its fucking limits,’ Silver mutters.

‘Glad Ellie’s done with all that,’ Woodes says.

‘Yeah, that’s how it works,’ Silver drawls, signing something considerably longer and angrier at Flint.

‘Suppose he puts up with your leg,’ Woodes notes. ‘What did you do to it, anyway?’

‘Car accident,’ Silver tells him. ‘Drink-driving.’

It’s the closest approximation of the truth he’s told Flint, let alone what this guy needs to know.

‘Dangerous habit,’ Woodes nods, draining his glass.

Silver translates and Flint scoffs out loud.

‘My god, he’s familiar,’ Woodes says, leering at Flint. Flint glares back with a withering look. ‘You have to watch the Deaf ones.’

‘It’s probably time you checked on Eleanor—’

‘There was a scandal about it, back in England,’ Woodes continues. ‘Deaf gay guys, trying to get access to schoolkids.’

Woodes leans rapidly forward at Flint, and Silver is between them before he can think. The sudden movement knocks the wineglass from Woodes’ hand, but the restaurant is so loud nobody hears it smash on the floor.

Silver murmurs at Woodes: ‘You’re going to shut your fucking mouth now.’


	10. Saturday 24th November, 3pm

It rains all through the next two days. Flint gets the log fire in the lounge going, and takes a stack of throw blankets from the cupboard. He and Silver are snuggled under one on the couch, while Miranda has built a nest on the armchair.

Silver finds he’s watching the rain on the window as often as the sitcom on the TV. Miranda has the same habit as Flint, chuckling at the captions a moment before a joke is said aloud. It had jarred Silver at first, until he’d reasoned that they’d miss the joke altogether otherwise. Now he’s so used to captions that they’re set on all his own platforms, and he finds he misses them when they’re off.

Flint is leafing through a book, until Miranda throws a cookie at him to get his attention. He picks up the cookie and eats it before looking up.

 _Tea?_ she asks.

_If you’re making it._

Silver nods too, as she goes to the kitchen.

 _I can see why you need a whole shelf of tea now,_ Silver grins.

_She drinks tea like you eat pie. She’d have drunk Boston Harbour in 1773._

_And you’re the coffee fanatic._

_You can see why it never worked out,_ Flint smiles, nestling against Silver.

By the time Miranda is back, Flint is fast asleep. She sets the tray on a side table, and Silver notes the pot has a knitted tea cosy on it, and she only pours cups for herself and Silver: she’d anticipated Flint napping.

Silver accepts his tea carefully, trying not to jostle Flint.

 _It’s so odd, seeing him like this,_ Miranda comments, settling herself back into the armchair.

Silver cocks his head. He can’t sign with the teacup in his hands, so he gives her a quizzical look.

 _He hasn’t been so happy in so long,_ she explains.

Silver sips and puts his cup down. _You think it’s because of me?_

 _I think so, yes,_ Miranda tells him. _He guards himself so closely. And yet, here you are._

_Here I am?_

_Being napped on._

Silver smiles at that, scritching Flint’s hair _._

 _What was he like?_ Silver asks.

 _It’s not entirely my story to tell,_ Miranda confesses. _He was always brittle, even when I met him. Fierce. Defensive. Quick to prove how smart he was._

 _He’s still like that,_ Silver affirms.

_You have to understand, he was between worlds when we met. Still transitioning to BSL, to being Deaf. He was raised Hearing._

Silver blinks in surprise. _How?_

 _Assimilation,_ she spells for him. _Hearing parents with a deaf child_ (she gestures the lower case for the D) _train them to speak, and to lip-read. To hide any difference; to fit with Hearing people. To not be a bother. All they’re taught is to pass as Hearing, to put Hearing people at ease._

Silver can’t imagine Flint ever having tried to put anyone at ease.

_But you can’t train deafness out of someone. You either give them language or you leave them unequipped. He was left unequipped._

_What did he do?_ Silver is trying very hard to sign without jostling Flint.

_Languished, to my mind. He might say differently. He was mostly oral, back then, fluent enough in BSL but not like a native speaker. Wasn’t he oral with you, to start with?_

Silver is never going to get used to that pun. _Briefly. He wasn’t as comfortable with it. I learned ASL as fast as I could._

 _It’s likely why he trusted you so quickly,_ Miranda agrees. _It’s particular to the deaf, that ferocity in conversation. The need to keep up, keep control. He doesn’t act that way with you anymore._

 _I’m not sure about that,_ Silver smiles. _He runs rings around me._

 _You keep up better than you think,_ she assures him. _You challenge him, in good ways._

‘Hmm,’ Flint says, rearranging himself beside Silver. Silver jumps, while Flint rolls his neck until it cracks.

 _How long have you been awake?_ Silver accuses.

Flint smirks at him, burrowing back against his shoulder. _Long enough. By all means, keep talking about me._

Silver leans around to check if Flint’s expression is sarcastic, but he seems content.

_She’s about to tell you how I got my big D._

Silver shoves him. _You’re terrible._

But Miranda is laughing. _We weren’t the first Deaf people he met, but we weren’t far from them._

 _We?_ Silver asks.

 _Thomas,_ Flint says. And something about the way Flint spells the name, his thumb slipping tenderly between his knuckles, tells Silver that this was the Someone who had Been in Flint’s past.

 _He was a schoolteacher,_ Miranda says. _I was in…_

Miranda signs something Silver can’t make head or tail of, even when she’s fingerspelling.

‘Developmental neurolinguistics,’ Flint says out loud. ‘How children’s brains acquire language.’

 _Thank you,_ Miranda nods.

 _Some of this will be easier for me to explain aloud,_ Flint tells Silver. _The ASL is too complicated._

_Are you sure?_

‘I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure,’ Flint signs along for Miranda. Silver apologises with a kiss to Flint’s cheek.

Miranda continues: _Flint was introduced to us by a Deaf Professor working in education._

 _My advisor,_ Flint explains. _I’d done my PhD in history, but they paired me with him because he was Deaf too. A lot of history scholars end up in teaching._

 _You, a teacher?_ Silver asks.

 _I know,_ Flint replies, rearranging himself so he can face Silver better. _At least Hennessey was more interested in policy than practice._

 _Which is how he was given to us,_ Miranda continues. _Thomas and I were working on a project, and we needed someone who understood education policy._

Here, Flint sighs. The rain echoes him, pounding heavier against the windows.

 _Thomas had a vision,_ he tells Silver, switching between speaking and signing in the complex parts. ‘A bilingual immersion program implemented in all British schools.’ _Miranda had the research to prove how beneficial it was for children’s development. Thomas had the experience teaching it. I knew enough about education policy to get a politician to listen._

 _You knew plenty about education policy,_ Miranda argues.

 _I was a historian,_ Flint says. _But I was oral—and that helped a lot more than anything to do with policy._

 _He looked good on television,_ Miranda adds. _Him and Thomas drummed up a campaign for it. They had a frontbencher called Peter Ashe on board._

 _You_ _did television?_ Silver smiles.

Flint smiles wryly at his skepticism. _We had the morning shows fawning over the idea. This was when sign language for Hearing babies was taking off. Hearing people could see us as useful. A better education for British children—_ ‘without Jamie Oliver taking anyone’s turkey twizzlers away. Jobs for “the disabled”,’ he says in air quotes, _just as the economy was crashing._

 _The media loved it,_ Miranda continues. _But not Thomas’ father. He was in the House of Lords._

‘Imagine Brexit made flesh,’ Flint explains, his face twisting into a sneer. _He was deeply religious_. _He’d barely had anything to do with Thomas, until the Labour party started supporting the program. His seat was becoming unstable, and he had the Murdoch press in his pocket._

Miranda’s expression is equally poisonous. _He leaked to the tabloids that Thomas and Flint were having an affair. You have to understand—ten years ago, a primary school teacher, an ‘odd’ one at that, who’d been advocating for radical reform on television…_

Silver nods.

 _And Thomas was my husband,_ she confesses.

Silver shakes his head. _So he and Flint…?_

‘She knew,’ Flint assures him. ‘She _encouraged_ it.’

 _They loved each other. I loved them. But it was easy to twist into something sinister. It made for the perfect scandal,_ Miranda explains.

Flint’s face looks wary as he meets Silver’s eyes. _I said it was complicated._

Silver shakes his head. _You think that’s where I draw the line? Extramarital sex?_

Flint laughs quietly, squeezing Silver’s arm with affection.

 _You loved him,_ Silver says, brushing a lock of hair from Flint’s eyes. _I could see that, without even knowing who he was._

 _Anyone could see it,_ Miranda says, with a sad smile. _Once they knew._

 _It ruined the project,_ Flint tells him. _Then it ruined us._

_What happened to Thomas?_

_Thomas’ father had him bustled away to a…_ Flint draws a shuddering breath. ‘Spiritual retreat.’

 _It was_ _fucking_ _conversion therapy,_ Miranda’s face twists in fury.

 _God,_ Silver shudders. _I’m so sorry._

Flint’s lip quivers, his eyes wet. Silver throws his arms around him.

 _He took his life,_ Miranda tells him. _We weren’t even told until after the funeral._

Flint crumples into Silver’s lap. Silver strokes his hair. The rain reduces to a patter on the window, lit gold by the setting sun.

Eventually Flint uncurls and pours himself a cup of tea. Miranda teeters off the armchair to kiss his forehead, and he gives her a little smile.

 _He taught me so much,_ Flint tells Silver, when he’s finished the cup. _The way he saw the world. He was the first person to make me think of Deafness not as a problem to be fixed, or a secret to be kept. He didn’t call it a disability, or... he said disability was an artificial thing, determined by what technology and society chose to accommodate, and what—who—to exclude. That’s how he envisioned BSL, not just as a crutch to replace English, but another culture in its own right. One worth sharing, for everyone’s benefit. A language for our own narrative._

Silver glances at Miranda, who wipes her eyes. _He wasn’t the first to think that way._

 _But he was the first to make me believe it,_ Flint concludes. _So you have him to thank for the big D._

Miranda casts her face into her hands, sighing fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'll indulge me for a moment: I want to thank everyone for the incredibly supportive comments so far. This series has had a much bigger response than I expected. There have been small deaf details throughout the story that I've written from experience, because I wanted to create something authentic and immersive. With that goal in mind, some parts of this chapter, like Flint's upbringing, are really personal to me. These aren't small details anymore. So thank you for letting me share that.


	11. Sunday 25th November 7:59pm

‘It makes sense, doesn’t it,’ Woodes slurs. ‘I thought you looked a little young for him.’

Silver’s blood runs cold. He goes completely still, glaring at Woodes.

 _What is it? What’s going on?_ Flint demands.

Silver swallows thickly. His fingers are stiff with anger as he signs:  _He knows who you are._

Flint stands up, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Woodes is on his feet too, and Silver a moment later. Woodes circles the table and Flint meets him, a menacing tilt to his shoulders.

‘You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,’ Silver snarls, coming to stand beside Flint.

‘You think I won’t?’ Woodes looms closer. ‘You think I wouldn’t lay out a fucking—’

The moment he reaches for Flint, Silver lashes out. He shoves hard and Woodes flails back. He crashes against the table and twists, hitting the ground face-first. There’s a crunching noise and Woodes screams.

When he looks up at Silver, his face is nothing but glass and blood.


	12. Sunday 25th November, 1:00am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recap for anyone who skipped the last few chapters: on the Saturday, Flint and Miranda detailed their history with Thomas, which ended in a public scandal. On the Sunday, Woodes Rogers recognised Flint from the scandal, and was going to attack him, until Silver shoved him into broken glass. OK, you're up to speed!

Flint kicks Silver hard in the shin.

Silver groans, rolling Flint’s squirming form over until they’re lying face to face. He brushes Flint’s hair back, massages his neck, then rubs his shoulder with a firm touch. Flint wakes up with a sigh, settling himself solidly. He reaches up to find Silver’s hand, squeezing it and then kissing Silver’s knuckles.

With a heavy sigh, Flint sprawls over his pillow and turns the lamp on.

 _Bad dream?_ Silver asks.

Flint nods. _Did I wake you?_

_No, but you kicked me._

Flint cringes. _Sorry. You couldn’t sleep?_

 _Just thinking,_ Silver tells him. _You can go back to sleep if you like._

 _Not yet,_ Flint rolls onto his front so he can look at Silver better. _Tell me what you’re thinking about._

 _The D,_ Silver grins. Flint raises his eyebrows. _No, really. What you were telling me about disability being artificial. I’m not sure I can see it that way._

Flint nods. _It’s not an easy idea to come around to._

_I understand the theory. But_ _pain_ _isn’t artificial. I am missing half my leg._

_Of course,_ Flint reassures him _. It’s not the same experience._

_And I like the idea that society’s broken, not me, but it literally broke. And I can’t convince myself I wouldn’t kill to have it back._

Flint takes a deep breath. _If that were possible, I’d be helping you hide the body. There’s times I want the hearing I used to have._

_Really?_

_Not often. But I miss waves on the beach. Rain on the roof. Cats purring._

Silver cups Flint’s jaw and Flint leans into the touch. He smiles as sweet as butterscotch. _I’d like to hear you sing._

_Join me in the shower sometime._

_I wouldn’t be in your way?_

_You wouldn’t need hearing aids?_

_You underestimate how loudly you sing in the shower,_ Flint chuckles.

 _Then I’ll give you a private show,_ Silver promises.

 _The social model... what you called ‘the D,’_ Flint rolls his eyes affectionately. _It’s not really about whether you’re broken or not. It’s not any of that shit about the real problem being your attitude, or about feel-good self-acceptance. It’s... for you, it’s those days where you don’t use a crutch because you know someone’s going to ask stupid questions that will be even more tiring than just going without the crutch. It’s the fact that I had to ask my landlord before I could put the rail in the shower._

 _The time I had to pay a dollar for a second pirate boot,_ Silver adds solemnly. Flint flicks his nose.

_I mean, you’re not wrong. But... think of when you fucked up your ankle because there was a ramp instead of an elevator. You had to use the crutch for a week. Because everyone thinks you’re in a wheelchair or you must be fine._

Silver nods. Flint smooths Silver’s hair, carding it with his fingers. Silver steals a kiss.

 _It’s the times you take your leg off when you’re on the couch because you know I’ll bring dessert to you,_ Flint tells him between kisses. _It’s fucking with the lights on while I ride you._

Silver slips his tongue into Flint’s mouth, and it becomes a different kind of kiss. Flint is edging his way into Silver’s lap, and by the time they stop for breath Flint is holding Silver’s face in both hands, knees planted on either side of Silver’s waist.

 _So it’s my immediate future, then?_ Silver asks.

 _You said you were thinking about the D,_ Flint grins. Silver rocks his hips up to find Flint’s cock is indeed stirring with interest. Flint’s fingertips trace a winding path along Silver’s collarbones, over his chest, circling his nipple, then walking down to his abdomen. Flint nuzzles his cheek, and then there’s a wash of hot breath on Silver’s throat followed by lips tickling his earlobe, tongue flicking, teeth nipping gently. Silver writhes, hypersensitive, thrilling at the sound of Flint’s breathing growing rougher. He reaches both hands around to grab Flint’s arse, kneading the meat of it and spreading Flint on top of him. Flint responds by arching into it, reaching down to grab Silver’s cock. He strokes it to hardness, then crawls down Silver’s body, peppering Silver with kisses. Silver lets his nails rake up Flint’s back, until he’s cupping the nape of Flint’s neck again. Flint is crouched between his legs, licking the line of Silver’s hip, tickling Silver with his beard.

Silver grabs another pillow and props himself up to watch. Flint looks up, an eyebrow raised, and Silver squeezes his spine encouragingly. Flint leans into the pressure, rolling his neck before nuzzling his way to Silver’s cock. His mouth is light, still kisses and kitten-licks, making Silver shiver. He’s already breathless when Flint’s lips finally slide around his cock, his other hand cradling Flint’s skull and urging for more. He can feel the way it makes Flint smile. Flint wraps one hand around the base of his cock and sucks him down, pulling off with a long sweep of his tongue. Then he descends again, growling softly around the girth of Silver, suckling and alternating pressure between his hand and his mouth. Silver’s fingers dig into Flint’s skull and the groan reverberates around his cock. Flint readjusts and swallows, and Silver can’t stop staring. Flint can’t fit all of him but he’s trying, throat flexing, encouraging Silver to fuck his mouth. He steals a glance up at Silver and Silver has to tug Flint’s hair.

 _If you still want to ride me, you’d better slow down,_ he warns Flint.

Flint pulls off reluctantly, lapping Silver’s cock from base to tip until it’s soaking wet. Then he drags his tongue up, from Silver’s navel to his clavicle. He settles himself on Silver’s hips, letting Silver’s cock slide along the cleft of his arse. Silver is about to warn him not to just start without any prep, because he suspects Flint would, but Flint reaches for the bedside table. Silver’s so enthusiastic he almost snatches the lube from Flint.

He starts with two fingers, hooking and twisting inside Flint. Flint quivers, whining as he fucks himself back on them. Silver knows he can make Flint come like this, and it’s tempting, watching the way Flint’s cock twitches when he crooks his fingers. But Flint adds a digit of his own, working his way in alongside Silver and that—that’s much more interesting. He’s rougher with himself than Silver is, more purposeful as he plies himself open. Silver could just lie back and watch, drinking in how wantonly Flint gives himself another finger, how he can barely hold himself upright with four inside him. But Silver’s cock is throbbing, still slick with Flint’s spit, and Flint hasn’t forgotten that either. In less than a minute he has Silver ready, then he’s biting his lip, eyes shut, as he bears down on Silver’s cock. His body is curled over Silver, thighs clenched around Silver’s waist almost uncomfortably tight. Flint begins to move in slow, undulating circles, keeping Silver sheathed in him. Silver hardly moves, letting Flint find the grinding, gradual pattern that traps them together, so tight and so intimate that Silver can hardly breathe.

Flint rests his head on Silver’s collarbone, his mouth open and wet, as he begins to quicken their pace. Silver wraps his arms around Flint, holding onto his shoulders so he can pull Flint down onto him. Flint’s hips rock back on Silver’s, and he shudders each time Silver angles himself to drag over Flint’s prostate. Flint is wringing his pleasure from Silver, with whimpers Flint likely can’t hear escaping him. Silver shifts his palm to Flint’s back and there’s Flint’s heart, fluttering for Silver.

Silver noses at Flint’s hair until Flint raises his face to kiss Silver.

And suddenly Silver has to get his hands between them, to press gently on Flint’s chest and tell him: _Wait_.

Flint stops immediately, and he moves to climb off Silver before Silver grabs him and pulls him back down—the movement makes Flint grunt—and Flint asks: _What’s wrong?_

 _Nothing, nothing’s wrong,_ Silver insists. _I just... ‘Oh,’_ he says aloud _. Keep doing that, actually..._

Flint rolls sinuously, sending arousal sparking up Silver’s spine. He’s sitting up to give them both space to sign, and Silver just wants to stare, but Flint is still watching him curiously.

 _I... I just, I need to tell you,_ Silver fumbles. It’s so hard to think like this, but that’s why he isn’t overthinking it when he says it. _I love you._

Flint shakes his head in surprise, smiling, still moving. _Was it the social model of disability that did it for you, or the way I ride your dick?_

 _It didn’t just happen now! I’ve known for a while_ , Silver explains. _But keep riding my dick._

 _You have a unique sense of timing,_ Flint bends down to kiss him. _And I love you._

Silver props himself up on his elbows, bringing them closer together. Flint’s cock is caught between them, an insistent pressure on Silver’s abdomen. Heat radiates from him, searing Silver’s skin everywhere they touch. Flint starts to move with more urgency, clinging to Silver as he does, locking them together. He holds Silver’s face in both hands, pressing their foreheads together, gasping for the same air. Silver pushes up into Flint in tight, frantic thrusts, and he can’t stop himself from groaning when Flint ’s cock pulses, spilling untouched over Silver’s belly. That sets Silver off, dragging the orgasm from him and Flint rides through it, smothering Silver’s face with clumsy, open-mouthed kisses. He collapses on top of Silver, boneless and warm. Silver’s cock slips out of him as he softens and Flint grunts with quiet discontent. Silver nudges Flint’s side, because if he stays up there any longer they’re going to get glued together in a very unpleasant way. Flint makes another frustrated noise and tumbles off, grappling for a box of tissues. Silver gets them both clean while Flint burrows back under the blankets, his eyes dark and watching Silver.

 _I meant it,_ Silver tells him. _It wasn’t just a heat of the moment thing._

 _I know,_ Flint grazes his knuckles over Silver’s cheek. _Since when?_

 _You were snoring,_ Silver says.

_Tonight?_

_Around Halloween. But tonight too,_ Silver smiles. _What about you?_

_The first time I tried your coffee._

Silver bats his shoulder. _Come on. Really._

Flint draws a deep breath, thinking.

 _Someone spoke to you once,_ Flint recalls. _And you signed back. You didn’t even realise you’d done it. I thought maybe then I could love you._

His gaze unfocuses as he remembers. _Then another time—we were by the sea. The wind pulled your hair undone. It moved like it had a life of its own. And by then I was already in love with you._

Silver touches Flint’s temple, following the collection of freckles under his eye. Flint’s lashes flutter shut, and he leans into the touch. His lips ghost across Silver’s palm.

 _Get the light?_ he asks, his eyes still closed. Silver reaches for it, collapsing back into Flint’s arms the moment it’s off.

This time, Flint wraps himself around Silver’s back, holding him tightly. This time, he doesn’t dream.


	13. Sunday 25th November, 8:02pm

Silver is shaking all over. His ears are roaring. His breath comes in gasps. The only solid thing is Flint, steering him away from where Woodes thrashes and curses. Flint is speaking sharply into Silver’s ear: ‘Back up. _Breathe._ Don’t do anything yet. Just keep breathing.’

By now, other patrons have noticed. Woodes staggers to his feet. The best Silver can say is that both his eyes are open, the gouge running from his cheekbone to his jaw.

‘You should’ve stayed down,’ Silver mutters.

‘What the _fuck?!’_ Eleanor screams.

Of course, she reappears now. She’s immediately on Woodes, checking him over, stemming the bleeding with a napkin.

_‘What did you_ _do?!’_ she turns on Silver.

‘He fell on the glass,’ Silver says. ‘But the shit he was saying to Flint, to me—’

‘And you went fucking postal on him? What is _wrong_ with you? Look at his face!’

‘You are _finished,’_ Woodes spits. ‘You’ll be out of this fucking country with an assault charge.’

‘There’ll be no charges,’ a deep voice cuts across the uproar. A man built like a house steps between them, blocking the horrified spectators.

‘And who the hell are you?’ Woodes asks.

‘The proprietor,’ the stranger growls. ‘You attacked a member of my staff. You’d been warned about disorderly behaviour.’

The man gestures toward the bar. ’And three police officers could testify that you were shouting at a disabled gay couple when you fell on glass that _you_ broke. Think about the optics. You can still walk, so walk away.’

Silver blinks, stunned. Flint is still watching everyone warily, not following what’s going on.

‘Get him to a hospital,’ the proprietor says. Eleanor doesn’t need to be told twice. The moment she’s out the door, Sugarfree Vanilla Jack reappears beside the proprietor.

‘It’s dealt with,’ the man mutters to Sugarfree Vanilla Jack. ‘Don’t fuck up again.’

‘No, sir,’ Sugarfree Vanilla Jack murmurs.

‘You’ve got his card?’ the proprietor asks.

‘Yeah.’

‘Charge it for the meal and the damage,’ he orders. Then he turns toward Silver and Flint.

‘Sir, I am _so_ sorry—‘ Silver starts, as they become the centre of attention.

‘Just get the fuck out of my restaurant,’ he growls at them.

They scurry away, the night chill descending on them the moment they’re outside. Flint holds him until he stops shivering, and then asks him what the fuck just happened. Silver explains, still confused about it himself.

_It’s alright. I’m glad you’re alright,_ Flint assures him. _Thank you for defending me._

_I shouldn’t have made you go_ , Silver wrings his hands.

_Don’t,_ Flint insists. _I think it’s fair to say neither of us predicted the night turning out like this._

_You warned me not to take you to a restaurant._

Flint chuckles. _You know, any longer and I’d have held him down while you cut his eye out._

_I don’t think the owner would have covered for us,_ Silver says.

Flint shrugs optimistically. _How connected are the seafood mafia? We might have been lucky._

_I should call a taxi,_ Silver realises, fumbling for his phone.

_Let’s walk for a bit. You’re still full of adrenaline._

Flint’s right. Before Silver puts his phone away, he opens his messages.

_i’m sorry,_ he writes to Eleanor. _it was an accident. please let me know if he’s ok._

All he gets back is: _You’re fired._

_Well,_ Flint reasons when Silver shows him. _You got your free lobster._

_It was a really good lobster,_ Silver remembers. _Shame we can never go back._

_It’s ok,_ Flint tells him, as they set out along the water’s edge. _I’m not that fond of restaurants._


	14. Monday 26th November, 7:00am

It takes a moment after waking for reality to hit Silver. He groans and rolls over in the bed, feeling sorry for himself for a few minutes before getting up. At least he’d got to sleep in.

Flint is gentle with him over breakfast, piling his plate with scrambled eggs. There’s enough chilli powder on them to wake him up properly.

 _I’ll live_ , Silver tells him, when he sees he has no new messages from Eleanor. _There’s always café work going somewhere. I can ask around_.

 _You’re the best milk-frother I’ve ever seen,_ Flint squeezes his hand encouragingly. _Tell me if I can help._

 _You could be my sugar daddy,_ Silver grins. _That’d really take the pressure off._

Flint snorts. _I appreciate your optimism, but I’m an academic on an 0.8 salary. So you can get a job, and pay the rent._

Silver should feel worried, but he finds something new is kindling inside him. _Are you asking me to move in with you?_

 _Get a job first,_ Flint reminds him. _Then, yeah. Move in._

So Silver isn’t feeling so bad about it all when he makes his way out to find a gig. The air is crisp and the streets are scattered with the red-gold leaves that crunch underfoot. He thinks he’ll start at the bakery, and see if they know anywhere that needs a barista.

He’s almost rounded the corner toward The Whole Damn Boulangerie when he sees it. Across the road, there’s another little café painted in greens. He’s never been inside: it’s just far enough out of the way not to be in competition with Eleanor’s place.

The sign says QUEENS, and among a number of stickers of fair trade and rainbows is a handwritten notice posted on the glass:

BARISTA WANTED

So Silver puts on his most charming smile, and goes inside.

The place is lovely, dressed in raw wood, glass, and succulents. He can smell breakfast wafting from the kitchen. A young woman stands behind the counter, and she gives him a small smile as he approaches.

‘I saw you need a barista?’ he asks.

She looks him over, with eyes so sharp it feels like a job interview.

‘You’re experienced?’ she asks.

‘Very,’ he assures her. ‘Ten years making coffee. Two years at House of Sticks around the block.’

‘Eleanor Guthrie’s café?’ she asks.

‘You know her?’

‘Childhood friend,’ she explains, then leans away, calling out toward a back room: ‘Dad? There’s a barista here who worked for Eleanor Guthrie.’

A familiar face appears from behind a door, and Silver beams. ‘Scott, isn’t it? I think we’ve met at Eleanor’s.’

Scott nods, giving him the same appraising look. ‘Why aren’t you there anymore?’

Silver takes in their matching expressions and decides to be honest. ‘I had a falling out with her fiancé.’

The woman nods like she understands what he’s alluding to. Scott shrugs, but he’s not put off by it.

‘Alright. Make me a latte,’ the woman says, showing him the path around the counter.

‘Can I get a name for the order?’ Silver asks, pulling his hair up into a bun.

‘Madi.’

Silver quickly familiarises himself with the machine, then gets her latte going. He gives extra attention to making a pretty leaf in the foam.

As she sips it, the quirk of her eyebrows suggests she’s impressed.

He makes coffees for Scott, and Eme the waitress, and Kofi the chef. Madi agrees he can stay for the morning.

She’s bitingly funny next to him at the counter, with a deadpan sense of humour and razor-sharp insight. Silver realises she's learned a lot more about him than he’d normally give away by the end of the morning.

She smiles and offers him the rest of the week, then after that her mother—the owner—will decide.

Silver carries on to the bakery, getting a sandwich from Featherstone and swapping news. Then he stops at the warehouse, and suggests to Vanilla Jack that they start bringing their orders to Queens. She seems open to the idea: she’s always had a soft spot for Silver. She mentions there were plans for Woodes funding her startup before things had gone sour over data privacy, so she’s interested in a future of syrupy coffees from Queens.

Finally he gets a bus, riding the few stops home—or, not really home anymore. It’s afternoon, so his roommates will be awake. With his morning shifts Silver hardly sees them, which is why they won’t mind him moving out: they’re practically on a time-share anyway.

‘Muldoon? Randall?’ he yells at the door.

‘Yeah?’ comes a voice from the lounge.

‘Boyfriend’s asked me to move in,’ Silver walks to the lounge, leaning on the doorframe. ‘If I replace my Switch’—which Muldoon hasn’t looked up from—‘do you know someone who wants my room?’

‘Sure, there’s a guy,’ Muldoon says, because he always knows a guy. Silver wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t already expected it. Muldoon passes the controller to Randall, who gives Silver a thumbs up.

‘Good for you, man,’ Muldoon tells him.

Silver knows he’s grinning like an idiot.

He makes his way to his room. There’s not much left there, since he’s been staying with Flint most nights since it started. The clothes fit in a laundry basket, and he upturns the milk crate beside his bed and fills it with books, personal effects, and everything else lying around. For the rest, Muldoon will know a guy who needs it.

Suddenly something heavy hits him in the middle of his back, knocking the wind out of him. The cat claws her way up to his shoulder, perching there so her fur covers most of Silver’s face. He laughs, scritching her neck. She purrs like a jet engine, so loud he can feel it vibrating against his cheek.

That gives him an idea. Flint said he missed the sound of cats purring.

‘Randall?’ he calls out. ‘I need to borrow Betsy.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading, and for so many thoughtful comments! If you'd like to subscribe to the Butterscotch series, Christmas and New Years Eve fics are on their way. Some other non-Butterscotchy silverflint fics are coming soon too.


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